Blood and Sand

"Gacho, you are the spoiled child of fortune! Who do you think has been talking to me about you?"

And putting his mouth close to the torero's ear, he murmured: "Doña Sol!"

She had been questioning him about "his matador" and had expressed a wish that he should be presented to her. He was such an original type! So thoroughly Spanish!

"She says she has several times seen you kill, once in Madrid, and in other places which I forget. She has applauded you, and she knows that you are very brave. Now see, if she took a fancy to you! What an honour! You would be brother-in-law or something of the sort to all the kings in Europe."

Gallardo smiled modestly, dropping his eyes, but at the same time he drew up his fine figure, as if he did not consider his manager's hypothesis at all extraordinary or out of the way.

"But all the same you must have no delusions, Juanillo," continued Don José. "Doña Sol wants to see a torero close, just as she takes lessons from old Lechuzo.... Local colour, and nothing more."

"Bring him with you to Tablada the day after to-morrow," she said. "You know what that is; a derribo[76] of cattle at the Moraima breeding farm, that the Marquis has arranged for his niece's amusement; we will go together, for I also am invited."

Two days afterwards, the maestro and his manager rode out in the afternoon through the suburb de la Feria, dressed as "garrochistas," amid the expectant crowd who had assembled at the gate or were loitering in the streets.

"They are going to Tablada," they said, "there is a 'derribo' of cattle."

Don José riding a bony white mare was in country dress; a rough coat, cloth breeches with yellow gaiters, and over the breeches those leather leggings called "zajones." The espada had put on for this festivity the bizarre costume that the ancient toreros used to wear, before modern habits had made them dress like every one else. On his head he wore a small round hat with turned up edges, made of rough velvet, fastened under the chin by a strap. The collar of his shirt, which had no cravat, was fastened by two diamonds, and two other larger ones flashed on his goffered shirt frills. The jacket and waistcoat were of wine coloured velvet with black tags and braidings. The sash was of crimson silk, the tight-fitting breeches with dark embroideries showed off to advantage the torero's muscular thighs, and were tied at the knees by black garters with large ribbon bows. The gaiters were amber coloured, with leather fringes hanging the whole length of the opening; his boots of the same colour were almost hidden in the large Moorish stirrups, leaving only the large silver spurs visible. On his saddle bow, above the rich Jerez blanket whose coloured tassels danced right and left on the horse's back was strapped a grey overcoat with black trimmings and a scarlet lining.

The two riders galloped along, carrying the "garrocha" of fine strong wood, over their shoulders like a lance with a ball at the end to protect the iron point. They received quite an ovation as they rode through the suburb. Olé the brave men! And the women waved their hands.

"May God go with you, fine fellow! Enjoy yourself Señor Juan!"

They spurred their horses to leave behind the swarm of children running after them. And the little streets with their blueish pavement and white walls rang with the rhythm of the horses' hoofs.

In the quiet street where Doña Sol lived, a street of aristocratic houses, with curved ironwork gratings and large glazed balconies, they found the other "garrochistas" who were waiting at the door, motionless in their saddles and leaning on their lances. They were mostly young men, relations or friends of Doña Sol's, who saluted the torero with courteous amiability, pleased that he should be of the party. At last the Marquis de Moraima came out of the house, and mounted his horse immediately.

"My niece will be down directly. Women, you know! ... they are never ready."

He said this with the sententious gravity with which he always spoke, as if his words were oracles. He was a tall spare man, with large white whiskers, but his eyes and mouth preserved an almost childlike ingenuousness. Courteous and measured in his language, quick in his gestures, seldom smiling, he was quite a great nobleman of the olden days: Clad almost always in riding dress he hated town life, bored by the social obligations that his rank imposed on him when he was in Seville, longing to range the country with his farmers and herdsmen whom he treated familiarly as comrades. He had almost forgotten how to write from want of practice, but when anyone spoke to him of fighting bulls, of the rearing of horses and bulls, or of agricultural work, his eyes sparkled with determination, and you recognised at once the great connoisseur.

Some clouds passed over the sun, and the golden light faded from the white walls of the street; some looked up at the sky, to the narrow strip of blue visible between the two lines of roofs.

"Do not be uneasy," said the Marquis gravely.... "As I came out of the house I saw the wind blowing a piece of paper in a direction I know. It will not rain."

Every one seemed reassured. It could not rain, as the Marquis had said it would not. He knew the weather just as well as an old shepherd, and there was no danger of his being mistaken.

Then he came up to Gallardo.

"This year I shall provide you with magnificent corridas. What bulls! We shall see if you will kill them like good Christians. Last year, you know, I was not at all pleased, the poor brutes deserved better."

Doña Sol now appeared, raising with one hand her dark riding habit, beneath which appeared her high grey leather riding boots. She wore a man's shirt with a red cravat, a jacket and waistcoat of violet velvet, and her small velvet Andalusian hat rested gracefully on her curling hair.

She mounted lightly, taking her garrocha from a servant. While she saluted her friends, apologizing for having kept them waiting, her eyes were watching Gallardo. Don José pricked on his horse to make the presentation, but Doña Sol was beforehand with him, going up to the torero.

Gallardo felt perturbed by the lady's presence. What a woman! What would she say to him?...

He saw that she held out a delicate, scented hand, and in his bewilderment he only knew that he seized and pressed it in the strong grasp used to overthrowing bulls. But the hand, so white and pink, was not crushed in the rough involuntary grip, which would have made another cry out with pain, but after a strong clasp it disengaged itself easily.

"I thank you much for having come. Delighted to know you."

And Gallardo, in his flurry, feeling that he must answer something, stammered as if he were speaking to an amateur:

"Thanks; and the family, quite well?"

A little ripple of laughter from Doña Sol was lost in the clatter of the hoofs, in the noise of their first start. The lady put her horse to a trot, and the cavalcade of riders followed her, Gallardo, unable to get over his stupefaction, bringing up the rear, feeling dimly that he had made a fool of himself.

They galloped through the outskirts of Seville alongside the river leaving the Torre Del Oro[77] behind them and then on through the shady gardens strewn with yellow sand, till they reached a road bordered on either side by small taverns and eating-houses.

When they arrived at Tablada, they saw on the green plain a large concourse of people and carriages drawn up close to the palisades which separated the meadow from the animals' enclosure.

The broad stream of the Guadalquivir rolled along the edge of the pasture; on the opposite side rose the hill of San Juan de Aznalfarache, crowned by its ruined castle, and many white country houses peeped out from among the silver grey of the olive trees. On the opposite side of the wide horizon, on which a few woolly clouds were floating, lay Seville, the line of its houses dominated by the imposing mass of the Cathedral, and the marvellous Giralda, dyed a tender pink in the evening light.

The riders advanced with no little trouble among the moving crowd. The curiosity inspired by Doña Sol's originalities had attracted all the ladies of Seville. Her friends saluted her as she passed their carriages, thinking she looked very beautiful in her manly dress. Her relations, the Marquis's daughters, some unmarried, others accompanied by their husbands, recommended prudence.

"For God's sake, Sol! do not risk anything"....

The "derribadores" entered into the enclosure, being greeted as they went through the palings by the shouts of the populace, who had come to see the sport.

The horses, seeing their enemies and sniffing them from afar, began to prance, neighing and kicking beneath the firm hands of their riders.

The bulls were in the centre in a group, some were quietly grazing, while others lay sleepily ruminating on the grass which was a little rusted by the winter; others, wilder, trotted towards the river, the old oxen, the prudent "cabestros"[78] immediately starting in pursuit, the big bells round their necks ringing, while the cowherds assisted them in collecting the stragglers by slinging stones which struck the tips of the fugitives' horns.

The riders remained a long time motionless, holding a council under the impatient eyes of the crowd who were longing for something exciting.

The first to ride out was the Marquis accompanied by one of his friends; the two galloped towards the group of bulls, and when within a short distance stopped their horses, standing up in their stirrups, waving their "garrochas" and shouting loudly to frighten them. A black bull with powerful thighs detached himself from the rest, trotting to the further end of the enclosure.

The Marquis had every right to be proud of his herd, composed entirely of fine animals, carefully selected from judicious crossing. They were not animals destined only for the production of meat, with rough and dirty coats, big hoofs, hanging heads, and large and ill-placed horns. They were animals of nervous vivacity, strong and robust, making the ground shake as they went along raising clouds of dust under their hoofs. Their coats were fine and shining like well-groomed horses, their eyes fiery, the neck broad and proudly carried, their legs short, their tails long and fine, their horns well shaped, sharp and polished as if by hand, and their hoofs short, small and round, but hard enough to cut the grass like a steel.

The two riders galloped after the animal, attacking him from either side, barring his way as he tried to make for the river, till the Marquis, spurring his horse, gained on him, and, nearing the bull with his garrocha in front of him, drove the iron on to his croup, the combined impetus of the horse and the rider's arm causing him to lose his balance, and roll over on the ground belly upwards, his horns stuck in the ground and his four legs in the air.

The rapidity and ease with which the breeder had accomplished this feat, raised shouts of delight from the other side of the paling. Olé for the old men!... No one understood bulls like the Marquis. He managed them as if they were his own children, tending them from the day they were born, till the day they entered the Plazas to die like heroes worthy of a better fate.

Immediately other riders wished to go out, and gain the applause of the crowd, but the Marquis stopped them, giving the preference to his niece. If she wished to accomplish a "derribo" she had better go out at once, before the herd got infuriated with the constant attacks.

Doña Sol spurred her horse, which did not cease rearing, frightened by the bulls. The Marquis wished to accompany her, but she refused his escort. No, she preferred having Gallardo, who was a torero. Where was Gallardo? The matador, still ashamed of his awkwardness, rode up to the lady's side in silence.

The two galloped towards the herd, Doña Sol's horse reared up frequently, refusing to go on, but the strength of the rider forced him to advance; Gallardo waved his garrocha, giving shouts that were really bellowings, just as he did in the Plazas when he wished to excite the animal to attack him.

It was not difficult to make one animal come out from the rest; a huge white bull with red spots, an enormous neck and hanging brisket, with horns of the finest point, soon detached himself. He trotted to the further end of the enclosure as if he had there his "querencia,"[79] which irresistibly attracted him; Doña Sol galloped after him, followed by the espada.

"Take care, Señora!" shouted Gallardo. "This is an old and malicious bull, he is drawing you on ... take care he does not turn short."

And so it was. When Doña Sol prepared to make the same stroke as her uncle, turning her horse obliquely to the bull so as to plant the garrocha well on his tail and overthrow him, the brute suddenly turned as if realizing his danger, planting himself menacingly in front of his attackers. The horse rushed in front of the bull, Doña Sol being unable to stop him from the impetus of his wild career, and the bull pursued, the chaser becoming the chased.

The lady had no thought of flight. Thousands of people were watching her from afar, she dreaded the laughter of her friends and the pity of the men, and succeeded at last in checking her horse, and fronting the bull. She held her garrocha under her arm like a picador, and drove it into the bull's neck as it rushed forward bellowing with lowered head. Its enormous poll was covered with a stream of blood, but it rushed on with an overwhelming impetus, not seeming to care for the wound, till it drove its horns under the horse's belly, shaking it, and lifting it off the ground.

The rider was thrown out of her saddle, while a wild cry of horror went up from the palisades; the horse, freed from the horns, rushed on madly, its belly stained with blood, the girths broken and the saddle flapping on its loins.

The bull turned to follow it, but at the same moment something nearer attracted its attention. It was Doña Sol who, instead of remaining motionless on the grass, stood up, picking up her garrocha, and putting it bravely in rest under her arm to confront the brute afresh. It was a mad display of courage, but she thought of those who were watching her; a challenge to death certainly, but far better than compounding with fear and incurring ridicule.

No one shouted from the palisade. The crowd were motionless in terrified silence. The groups of cavaliers were approaching at a mad gallop, but their help would come too late, the bull was already pawing the ground with its forefeet, and lowering his head, to attack that slight figure threatening him with her lance. One simple blow of those horns and all would be over. But at that instant a ferocious bellowing drew the bull's attention and something red passed before his eyes like a flame of fire.

It was Gallardo, who had thrown himself off his horse, dropping his lance, to seize the overcoat strapped on to his saddle bow.

"Eeee! Entra!"[80].

And the bull attacked, running after the red lining of the jacket, attracted by this adversary so worthy of him, turning his hind quarters to the figure in the black riding skirt and violet jacket, who still stood stupefied by the danger, with her lance under her arm.

"Do not be afraid, Doña Sol, he is mine," said the torero, pale with emotion, but smiling, sure of his dexterity.

With no other defence but his jacket, he baited the brute, drawing it away from the lady, and avoiding its furious attacks by graceful bendings.

The crowd, forgetting their previous fright, began to applaud tremendously. What a joy! To have come to see a simple "derribo" and to see gratuitously an almost regular corrida, with Gallardo fighting!

The torero, warmed by the impetuosity of the bull's attack, forgot Doña Sol and everything else, intent only on slipping away from his attacks. The bull turned again and again, furious at seeing this invulnerable man slipping away from between his horns, and constantly meeting the red lining of the coat instead.

At last he was wearied out, and stood motionless with his head low, and his muzzle covered with foam; then Gallardo, taking advantage of the brute's bewilderment, took off his hat and laid it between the horns. An immense howl of delight arose from the palisade, greeting this exploit.

Then shouts and bells rang out behind Gallardo, and a crowd of herdsmen and bell oxen surrounded the brute, and slowly enticed him towards the main body of the herd.

Gallardo went in search of his horse, who, accustomed to being near bulls, had not moved, picked up his garrocha, mounted and then cantered slowly towards the palisade; prolonging in this way the noisy rounds of applause from the populace.

The riders who had escorted Doña Sol greeted the espada with the greatest display of enthusiasm, his manager winked at him and then whispered mysteriously:

"Gacho, you have not been behindhand. Very good: extremely good! Now I tell you she is yours."

Outside the palisade, Doña Sol was sitting in a landau, with the Marquis's daughters. Her terrified cousins felt her all over, determined to find something put out of joint by her fall. They offered her glasses of Manzanilla to get over her fright, but she, smiling vaguely, received these evidences of feminine concern with contemptuous indifference.

As she saw Gallardo pushing his horse through the ranks of people, between waving hats and outstretched hands, she smiled cordially.

"Come here to me, Cid Campeador![81] Give me your hand."

And once again their right hands met, in a long, vigorous clasp.

That evening the affair of which all Seville was talking, was also much canvassed in the matador's house. The Señora Angustias was beaming as after a great corrida. Her son saving one of those great ladies, whom she, accustomed to years of servitude, had always looked upon with such deference and admiration! but Carmen remained silent, not knowing quite what to think of the occurrence.

Many days passed without Gallardo having any news of Doña Sol. His manager was out of town, at a hunting party with some of his friends of the "Forty-Five." But one evening Don José went to seek his matador at a café in the Calle de las Sierpes, where many amateurs of "the sport" gathered. He had only returned a couple of hours previously from the hunting party, and had gone at once to Doña Sol's house, in consequence of a note which he had found waiting for him.

"God bless me, man! you are worse than a wolf!" said the manager, marching his man out of the café. "The lady expected you at her house. She has stayed at home evening after evening thinking you might come at any moment. Such things are not done. After being presented, and after what happened you owed her a visit, were it only to enquire after her health."

The espada stopped, scratching his head under his felt hat.

"It is," he murmured uneasily ... "it is ... well I must say it out.... It frightens me.... Now, Señor, it is said.... Yes, it frightens me. You know well enough I am no laggard, that I can carry on with most women, and say a few words to a 'gachi' as well as anyone else. But this one—no. She is a lady who knows more than Lepe,[82] and when I see her I feel I am an ignorant brute, and keep my mouth shut, as I cannot speak without putting my foot in it. No, Don José.... I am not going. I ought not to go!"

But Don José ended by over persuading him, and finally carried him off to Doña Sol's house, talking as he went of his interview with that lady. She seemed rather offended at Gallardo's neglect. All the best people in Seville had been to see her after her accident, except himself.

"You know that a torero ought to stand well with people of good position. It is only a matter of having a little education and showing that you are not a cowherd brought up in a stable. Just think. A great lady like that to distinguish you and expect you!... Stuff and nonsense, I shall go with you."

"Ah! if you go with me!"

And Gallardo breathed again, as if freed from the weight of a great fear.

The "patio" of Doña Sol's house was in Moorish style, the delicate work of its coloured arches making one think of the Alhambra. The ripple of a fountain, in whose basin gold fish were swimming, murmured gently in the evening silence. In the four galleries with ceilings of inlaid Moorish work,[83] which were divided from the patio by marble pillars, he saw ancient carved panels, dark pictures of saints with livid faces, ancient furniture with rusty iron mountings, so riddled with worm holes, that they looked as if they had had a charge of shot.

A servant shewed them up the wide marble staircase, and there again the torero was surprised to see retablos with dark figures on gold grounds, massive virgins, who looked as if they had been cut out with a hatchet, painted in faded colours and dull gilding; tapestries of soft dead leaf colour, framed in borders of fruit and flowers, of which one represented scenes of Calvary, while the other represented hairy, horned, and cloven-footed satyrs, whom lightly-clad nymphs seemed to be fighting like bulls.

"See what ignorance is!" said the matador to Don José. "I thought that sort of thing was only good for convents! But it seems that these people also value them."...

Upstairs, the electric lamps were lighted as they passed, while the sunset splendours still shone through the windows.

Gallardo experienced fresh surprises. He, so proud of his furniture bought in Madrid, all quilted with bright silks, heavily and richly carved, which seemed to cry out the amount they had cost, could not get over seeing light and fragile chairs, white or green; tables and cupboards of simple outline, walls of one colour, with only a few pictures wide apart hanging by thick cords—a luxury of which the beautiful polish seemed due only to the finish of the carpenters' work. He was ashamed of his own surprise, and at what he had admired in his own house as supreme luxury. "See what ignorance is!" And he sat down with fear, dreading that the chair would break under his weight.

The entrance of Doña Sol disturbed his reflections. He saw her, as he had never seen her before, without either hat or mantilla, her head crowned by that shimmering hair which seemed to justify her romantic name. Her beautiful white arms showed through the hanging silk sleeves of a Japanese tunic, which also left uncovered the curve of her beautiful neck, marked by the two lines called Venus' necklace. As she moved her hands, stones of all colours, set in curiously shaped rings which covered her fingers, flashed brilliantly. On her delicate wrists gold bracelets tinkled, one of Oriental filigree worked with some mysterious inscription, the others heavy and massive to which were hung various small charms and amulets, souvenirs of foreign travel. When she sat down to talk she crossed her legs with masculine freedom, balancing on her toe a small red golden-heeled papouche, like an embroidered toy.

Gallardo's ears were buzzing, his eyes were dim, he could scarcely distinguish the two clear eyes fixed on him with an expression at once caressing and ironical. To conceal his emotion he smiled, showing his teeth—the stiff stereotyped smile of a child who wishes to be amiable.

"No indeed, Señora!... Many thanks.... It is not worth the trouble," was all he could stammer to Doña Sol's grateful acknowledgment of his exploit the other evening.

Little by little Gallardo recovered his calm, and as the lady and his manager began to speak of bulls he at last gained confidence. She had seen him kill several times, and remembered the principal incidents with great exactitude. He felt proud to think this woman watched him at such moments, and had kept the remembrance fresh in her memory.

She had opened a lacquered box decorated with strange flowers and offered the two men gold-tipped cigarettes which exhaled a strange and pungent scent.

"They have opium in them," she said, "they are very nice."

She lighted one herself, and with her greenish eyes which in the light seemed like liquid gold, she followed the waving spirals of smoke.

The torero, accustomed to strong Havanas, inhaled the smoke of this cigarette with curiosity. Nothing but straw—a thing to please ladies. But the strange perfume spread by the smoke seemed slowly to dissipate his timidity.

Doña Sol, fixing her eyes on him, questioned him about his life. She wanted to be behind the scenes of glory, to know the inner lining of celebrity, the miserable and wandering life of a torero who has not yet succeeded in gaining the good will of the public, and Gallardo talked and talked with sudden confidence, telling her of his early days, dwelling, with proud insistence, on the humbleness of his origin, although he omitted anything he considered shameful in the story of his adventurous youth.

"How very interesting.... How very original" ... said the beautiful woman.

Turning her eyes from the torero she seemed lost in the contemplation of something invisible.

"The first man in the world!" exclaimed Don José, with rough enthusiasm. "Believe me, Sol, there are not two men like him. And how impervious to wounds!"

As proud of Gallardo's strength as though he were his father, he enumerated the different wounds that Gallardo had received, describing them as if he saw them through his clothes. The lady's eyes followed this anatomical journey with sincere admiration. A real hero, simple, embarrassed, retiring, like all strong men.

The manager spoke of going away; it was seven o'clock and he would be expected at home. But Doña Sol remonstrated with smiling insistence; they really must both of them stay to dinner; it was an unceremonious invitation, but that evening she was not expecting anyone, she would be alone as the Marquis and his family had gone into the country.

"I shall be quite alone.... Not another word, I command it; you must do penance with me."

And as if her commands admitted of no reply, she left the room.

The manager demurred; he really could not stay; he had already come out that afternoon and so his family had hardly seen him; besides he had invited two friends. As far as concerned his matador, it seemed quite correct and natural that he should stay, for really the invitation was for him.

"But you really must stay," said the espada in agony. "Curse it!... You are never going to leave me alone. I should not know what to do, nor what to say."

A quarter of an hour afterwards Doña Sol returned to the room, wearing now one of those creations of Paquin, which were at once the despair and the wonder of her friends and relations.

Don José persisted; he really must go, it was unavoidable, but his matador would remain, and he undertook to let them know at his house that they were not to expect him.

Gallardo made an agonized gesture, but was a little quieted by a look from his manager.

"Don't be uneasy," he whispered as he went towards the door. "Do you think I am a child? I shall say you are dining with some amateurs from Madrid."

What torments the torero suffered the first few moments at dinner!... The grave and seigniorial luxury of the room intimidated him; he and his hostess seemed lost in it, sitting opposite to each other in the middle of that big table with its enormous silver candelabra fitted with electric light and pink shades.

The imposing servants, stiff and ceremonious, who looked as if nothing could upset their gravity, inspired him with respect. He was ashamed of his clothes and of his manners, feeling the great contrast between the surrounding atmosphere and his own appearance.

But this first feeling of shyness and timidity soon vanished, and Doña Sol laughed at his abstemiousness and the dread with which he touched the plates and glasses. Gallardo looked at her admiringly, certainly the golden-haired lady had a fine appetite! Accustomed as he was to the prudery and abstentions of ladies he had known, who thought it bad form to eat anything, he was astonished at Doña Sol's appetite.

Gallardo, encouraged by her example, ate, and above all drank, drank deeply, seeking in the many fine wines a remedy for that nervousness which had made him so shamefaced, and unable to do anything but smile as he constantly repeated, "Many thanks."

The conversation became more lively. The espada began to be talkative and told her many amusing incidents of bull-fighting life, ending by telling her of El Nacional's original ideas, of the feats of his picador Potaje, who swallowed hard-boiled eggs whole, who was half an ear short, because a companion had bitten it off, who, when he was taken wounded to the infirmary of a Plaza, fell on the bed with such a weight of iron armour and muscles that his big spurs pierced the mattress and he had subsequently to be disentangled with extreme difficulty.

"How very interesting! How very original!"

Doña Sol smiled as she listened to the anecdotes of these rough men, always face to face with death, whom she had hitherto only admired from a distance.

The champagne ended by bewildering Gallardo, and when they rose from the table he offered his arm to his hostess, amazed at his own audacity. Did they not do this in the great world? ... decidedly he was not quite so ignorant as he had appeared at first sight.

Coffee was served in the drawing-room, where in a corner Gallardo spied a guitar, no doubt the one on which Lechuzo gave Doña Sol her lessons. She offered it to him, asking him to play something.

"I do not know how!... I am the most ignorant man in the world, except about killing bulls!"... He much regretted that the Puntillero[84] of his cuadrilla was not there, a lad who drove the women wild with his beautiful playing.

There was a long silence, Gallardo sat on a sofa smoking a splendid Havana, while Doña Sol smoked one of those cigarettes whose perfume seemed to induce a vague drowsiness. The torero felt sleepy after his dinner, and scarcely opened his mouth to answer except by a fixed smile.

Doubtless this silence bored Doña Sol, for she rose and went to the grand piano, which soon rang under her vigorous touch with the rhythm of a Malagueña.

"Olé! That is fine!" said the torero, shaking off his drowsiness! "Capital.... Very good!"

After the Malagueñas she played some Sevillanas, and then some Andalusian popular songs, all melancholy, with an Oriental ring.

Gallardo interrupted the singing with his exclamations just as he would have done before the stage of a café chantant.

"Well done, the golden hands! Now for another!"

"Are you fond of music?" enquired the lady.

"Oh, very," replied Gallardo, who up to now had never asked himself the question.

Doña Sol passed slowly from these lively measures to something slow and more solemn, which Gallardo with his philharmonic learning recognised as "Church music."

There were no exclamations now. He felt himself overcome by a delicious sleepiness; his eyes were closing, and he felt certain that if this concert went on much longer he should be fast asleep.

To prevent this catastrophe Gallardo gazed at the beautiful woman who had turned her back to him. Mother of God! What a beautiful figure, and he fixed his African eyes on the round white neck, crowned with the waving curls of golden hair. An absurd idea floated before his confused mind, keeping him awake with the itching of its temptation.

"What would that gachi do if I went up softly on tip-toe and kissed that beautiful neck?"...

But his thoughts went no further. The woman inspired him with irresistible respect. He remembered what his manager had said, and how she managed men as if they were playthings. Still, he looked at that neck, though the mist of sleep was spreading before his eyes. He knew he would fall asleep! And he feared that soon a loud snore would interrupt that music, which although quite incomprehensible to him must be magnificent. He pinched his thighs and stretched his arms to keep himself awake, smothering his yawns with his hand.

A long time passed. Gallardo was not quite sure he had not been asleep. Suddenly the sound of Doña Sol's voice woke him from his drowsiness; she was singing in a low voice that trembled with passion.

The torero pricked up his ears to listen. He could not understand a word. It was something foreign. Curse it!... Why could she not sing a tango or something of the sort?... And she expected a Christian to keep awake!...

She was singing, as in a waking dream, Elsa's prayer, the lament for the strong man, the great warrior, so invincible to men, so tender to women. That tender and strong man! ... that warrior.... Was it possibly the man behind her.... Why not?...

He certainly had not the legendary aspect of that other warrior. He was rough and heavy. Still she remembered clearly the gallantry with which he had come to her aid the other day, the smiling confidence with which he had fought the bellowing brute, just as the other heroes fought with terrifying dragons; yes; he was her warrior!

She shook from head to foot with voluptuous dread, acknowledging herself beforehand as conquered. She thought she could feel the sweet danger which was approaching her from behind. She could see her hero, her paladin, rise from the sofa, with his Moorish eyes fixed on her; she could hear his cautious footsteps, she could feel his hands on her shoulders, and a kiss of fire on her neck, a sign of passion which would seal her for ever as his slave.... But the romance ended without anything happening, without her feeling anything on her spine, beyond the thrill of her own trembling desire.

Deceived by his respect, she ceased playing and turned round on her music stool. The warrior was opposite to her, buried in the sofa cushions, trying for the twentieth time to light his cigar, opening his eyes wide to overcome his drowsiness.

When he saw her eyes fixed on him, Gallardo rose. Ay! the supreme moment was coming! Her hero was coming towards her to clasp her in his passionate and manly embrace, to conquer her and make her his own.

"Good-night, Doña Sol.... It is getting late and I am going. You will wish to rest."

Between surprise and pique she also stood up, and scarcely knowing what she did held out her hand.... Tender and strong as a hero!

Thoughts of feminine conventionality rushed wildly through her mind, all those restraints which a woman never forgets even in her moments of greatest self-abandonment. Her longing was not possible. The first time he had ever entered her house!... And without the slightest show of resistance!...

But as she clasped the espada's hand, and saw his eyes, eyes that could only look at her with passionate intensity, trusting to the mute expression of his timid desires.

"Do not go!... Come! Come!!"

And nothing more was said.

CHAPTER IV

A great satisfaction to his vanity was added to the numerous other reasons Gallardo had for being proud of his person.

When he spoke with the Marquis de Moraima he regarded him with an almost filial affection. That gentleman, dressed as a countryman, a rough centaur with "Zajones" and a strong garrocha, was an illustrious personage, who could cover his breast with ribbons and crosses, and in the king's palace wore an embroidered coat, with a gold key sewn on to one flap. His remote ancestors had come to Seville with that monarch who had expelled the Moors, and had received as reward for their great exploits, immense territories wrested from the enemy, the remains of which were those vast plains on which the Marquis now reared his cattle. And this great nobleman, frank and generous, who preserved, notwithstanding the simplicity of his country life, the distinction of his illustrious ancestry, was looked upon by Gallardo as in some sort a near relation.

The cobbler's son was just as proud as if he had in reality become a member of the Marquis's family. The Marquis de Moraima was his uncle, and though he could neither announce it publicly, nor was the relationship legitimate, he consoled himself by thinking of the ascendency he exercised over one female of the family, thanks to a love which seemed to laugh at all prejudices of rank.

All those gentlemen who up to now had treated him with the rather disdainful familiarity with which the patrons of the sport of rank treat toreros, were now in some sort his cousins, and he began to treat them as equals.

His life and habits had completely changed. He seldom entered the cafés in the Calle de las Sierpes, where most of the amateurs assembled. They were good sort of people, simple and enthusiastic, but of little importance; small tradesmen, workmen who had become employers, small clerks, nondescripts without profession, who lived miraculously by strange expedients, apparently having no other business than to talk of bulls.

Gallardo passed by the windows of these cafés, saluting his admirers, who waved frantically to him to come in. "I will return presently"; he, however, did not return, he went further up the street to a very aristocratic club, decorated in the Gothic style, where the servants wore knee breeches, and the tables were covered with silver plate.

The son of Señora Angustias could not repress a feeling of pride each time he passed through the rows of servants drawn up on either side like soldiers, or when a Major-domo, with a silver chain round his neck, came to take his hat and stick. In one room fencing was practised, in another they gambled from the early hours of the afternoon till dawn. The members tolerated Gallardo because he was a "decent" torero, who spent a good deal of money, and had powerful friends.

"He is very well educated," said the members gravely, realizing that he knew just about as much as they did.

The sympathetic personality of his well-connected manager, Don José, served the torero as a guarantee in his new existence. Besides, Gallardo, with the cunning of a former street urchin, knew how to make himself popular with this brilliant set, among whom he met "relations" by the dozen.

He played heavily. It was the best way of drawing closer to his new friends. He played and lost, with the proverbial ill-luck of a man fortunate in other undertakings, and his ill-luck became a matter of pride to the club.

"Gallardo was cleared out last night," said the members proudly. "He must have lost at least eleven thousand pesetas."

The calmness with which he lost his money made his new friends respect him, but the new passion soon grew upon him, even to the point of making him sometimes forget his great lady. To play with all the best in Seville! To find himself treated as an equal by these gentlemen! Thanks to the fraternity established by loans of money and common emotions!

One night a large lamp suddenly crashed down on to the green table. There was sudden darkness and wild confusion, but the imperious voice of Gallardo rang out:

"Calm yourselves, gentlemen. Nothing much has happened. Let the game go on. They are bringing candles."

And the game went on, his companions admiring him even more for his energetic speech, than for the way in which he killed his bulls.

The manager's friends questioned him as to Gallardo's losses. Surely he would ruin himself: everything he earned by bull-fighting he lost by gambling. But Don José smiled disdainfully.

"This year we had more corridas than anyone else. We shall become tired of killing bulls and piling up money.... Let the lad enjoy himself. He works for this and is what he is ... the first man in the world."

In his new existence Gallardo not only frequented this club, but some afternoons he went to the "Forty-Five," which was a kind of Senate of tauromachia. The toreros as a rule did not gain easy access to its precincts, for their absence admitted of the fathers of the "sport" giving free vent to their various opinions.

During the spring and summer the members met in the vestibule, and overflowed into the street, sitting on cane chairs, waiting for telegrams about the different corridas. They believed very little in the opinions of the Press; besides it was necessary for them to have the news before it got into the papers.

It was an occupation that filled them with pride and elevated them above their fellow mortals, to sit quietly at the door of their club breathing the fresh air and knowing exactly, without interested exaggerations, what had happened that afternoon in the corrida of Bilbao, Coruña, Barcelona, or Valencia; how many ears one matador had received, how another one had been hissed, while their fellow-townsmen remained in complete ignorance, waiting about the streets till the evening papers were published. When there was "hule" and a telegram came announcing the terrible wounds of some native torero their feelings and their patriotic solidarity softened them sufficiently to admit of their imparting the momentous secret to some passing friend. The news flew instantaneously through the cafés in the Calle de las Sierpes, and no one could doubt it for an instant, for was it not a telegram received by the "Forty-Five"?

Gallardo's manager, with his aggressive and noisy enthusiasm, rather disturbed the social gravity. They endured it as he was an old friend, and ended by laughing at his flights. But it was impossible for sensible men to discuss the merits of the various toreros quietly with Don José. Often when they alluded to Gallardo as "a very brave fellow, but without much art" they would look timorously towards the door.

"Hush! Pepe[85] is coming," and Pepe would enter waving a telegram above his head.

"Is that news from Santander?"... "Yes! here it is: Gallardo, two estocades ... two bulls ... and the ear of the second. Just what I said! The first man in the world."

The telegrams to the "Forty-Five" often differed, but Don José would pass it over with a gesture of contempt, breaking out into noisy protests.

"Lies! All envy! My wire is the true one. What is in yours is only envy because 'my lad' has lowered so many chignons."

All the members laughed at Don José, lifting a finger to their foreheads and joking about the first man in the world, and his kind manager.

Little by little Gallardo had succeeded, as an unheard-of privilege, in introducing himself into this society. The torero would come at first under pretext of looking for his manager, and ended by sitting down among the gentlemen, although there were many who were no friends to him and who had chosen other matadors from among his rivals.

The decoration of the house, according to Don José, was full of "character." The lower part of the walls were covered with Moorish tiles, and on the immaculately white walls hung announcements of ancient corridas, stuffed bulls' heads, of animals celebrated either for the number of horses they had killed, or for having wounded some celebrated torero; together with procession capes and rapiers presented by espadas who had "cut off their pigtails" and retired from the profession.

Servants in dress coats served the gentlemen in their country clothes, or possibly in their shirt sleeves, during the hot summer evenings. During the Holy Week and other great holidays in Seville, when illustrious enthusiasts from every part of Spain came and paid their respects to the "Forty-Five," the servants wore knee breeches and powdered wigs, donned the royal livery of red and yellow, and dressed thus, like servants of the royal household, handed glasses of Manzanilla to these wealthy gentlemen, many of whom had even dispensed with their ties.

In the evenings when the doyen, the illustrious Marquis de Moraima, came in, the members in big arm-chairs formed a circle round him, and the famous breeder in a chair higher than the others presided over the conversation. For the most part they began by talking of the weather. Most of them were great breeders or wealthy landed proprietors, whose living depended on the necessities of the earth, and the variations of the weather. The Marquis explained the observations that his wisdom had gathered, during interminable rides over the lonely Andalusian plains, so immense and solitary, with wide horizons, like the sea, on which the bulls, slowly moving among the waves of verdure, seemed like basking sharks. He could generally see some piece of paper blown about the street which served as a basis to his predictions. The drought, that cruel scourge of the Andalusian plains, gave them conversation for a whole afternoon, and when after weeks of anxious expectation the overcast sky would discharge a few big hot drops, the great country gentlemen would smile, rubbing their hands, and the Marquis would say sententiously, as he looked at the great round splashes on the pavement:

"Glory be to God!... Each drop of this is worth a five duro piece."

When they were not anxious about the weather, cattle was the subject of their conversation, and especially bulls, of whom they spoke tenderly, almost as if there were some relationship between them. The other breeders listened with deference to the Marquis's opinions, on account of the advantage given him by his large fortune. The simple "aficionados" who never left the town admired his skill in producing fierce animals. What this man knew!... He himself, as he spoke of the extreme care required by the bulls, seemed quite convinced of the importance of his occupation. Out of ten calves, at least eight or nine were fit only for the butcher, after they had been tried to judge of their fierceness. Only one or two who had shown themselves brave and ready to charge against the iron of the garrocha were judged fit to pass as fighting animals; thenceforward these lived apart, with every sort of care. And what care!

"A breeding establishment of wild bulls ought not to be a business," said the Marquis. "It is an expensive luxury. It is true we are paid four or five times as much for a fighting bull as for the others, but then, see what it costs to rear!"

They must be watched constantly, their food and water considered, moved from one place to another, according to variations of temperature, in fact every bull costs more than the maintenance of a family, and when at last they were brought to the highest pitch, they had still to be carefully watched up to the last moment, in order that they should not disgrace themselves in the circus, but be fit to do honour to the badge of the herd which hung round their necks.

In certain Plazas the Marquis had even fought with the managers and the authorities, refusing to hand over his animals, because a band was stationed just over the bulls' entrance. The noise of the instruments bewildered the noble animals, robbing them of their bravery and their calmness as they entered the Plaza.

"They are just like us," said he tenderly, "they only want speech. How can I say like us? Many are worth more than any of us."

And he spoke of Lobito,[86] the old head of the herd, swearing he would not sell him if he were offered all Seville, with the Giralda thrown in. As soon as the Marquis, galloping across the vast plains, came in sight of the herd to which this treasure belonged, he would instantly respond to the call of "Lobito."... And leaving his companions would come to meet the Marquis, rubbing his muzzle against the rider's boots, and this although he was an immensely powerful animal and the terror of the rest of the herd. Then the breeder would dismount, and search in his saddle bags for a piece of chocolate to give to Lobito, who would gratefully shake his head, armed with those immense horns. Then with one arm round the bull's neck the Marquis would calmly walk in among the herd of bulls, made restless and fierce by a man's presence. There was no danger. Lobito walked like a dog, covering his master with his body, looking all around him, and imposing respect on his companions with his fiery eyes. If any one, more venturesome than his comrades, approached to sniff the intruder they met with Lobito's threatening horns. If several of them with heavy playfulness joined to bar his way, Lobito would stretch out his armed head and force them to make way.

When the Marquis related the great deeds of some of the animals reared on his pastures his white whiskers and his shaven lips would tremble with emotion.

"A bull!... He is the noblest animal in the world. If only men were more like him things would go on better in the world. There you have a portrait of poor Coronel. Do any of you remember that jewel?"

As he spoke he pointed to a large photograph finely framed, representing himself, much younger, in peasant dress, surrounded by little girls in white, who seemed to be seated in the midst of a meadow, on a black mound, at one end of which appeared a pair of horns. This dark and shapeless bank was Coronel. Of enormous size and very fierce to his comrades in the herd, this beast showed the most affectionate gentleness to his master and his family. He was like one of those mastiffs who are so fierce to strangers, but who let the children of the family pull their ears and tail, and receive all their teazing with grunts of pleasure. The little girls were the Marquis's daughters; the beast would sniff at their little white dresses, while they half frightened at first, clung to their father's legs, but would suddenly with childish confidence rub his muzzle. "Lie down, Coronel," and Coronel would lie down with his feet doubled beneath him, while the children sat on his broad back heaving with his heavy breathing.

One day, after much hesitation, the Marquis sold him to the Plaza in Pampeluna, and went himself to assist at the corrida. De Moraima was deeply moved and his eyes were dim as he recalled the occurrence. Never in his life had he seen a bull like that one. He rushed gallantly into the arena, though rather dazed at first by the sudden light after the darkness of his stall and the roars of thousands of people. But directly a picador pricked him, he seemed to fill the whole Plaza with his magnificent onslaughts.

Soon, there were neither men nor horses nor anything else left! In a moment all the horses were down and their riders tossed in the air. The peons ran, and the arena was in disarray, as if a branding[87] had been going on. The audience clamoured for more horses, while Coronel stood in the middle of the Plaza waiting to turn and rend anyone who came out against him. The slightest invitation was sufficient to make him attack, no one had ever seen anything like him for nobility and power, rushing in to his charge with a grandeur and a dash which drove the populace mad. When the death signal sounded, he had fourteen wounds in him and a complete set of banderillas, yet he was as fresh and as brave as if he had never left his pasture. Then....

When the breeder reached this point he always stopped to steady his shaking voice.

Then ... the Marquis de Moraima, who was in a box, found himself, he knew not how, behind the barrier, among the excited servants of the Plaza and close to the matador, who was slowly rolling up his muleta, as though he wished to put off the moment when he should have to meet so formidable an enemy. "Coronel!" ... shouted the Marquis, throwing his body half over the barrier and striking the woodwork with his hands.

The animal did not move, but he raised his head, as though these shouts reminded him of the pastures he might never see again. "Coronel!"... Till, turning his head he saw a man leaning over the barrier calling him, and rushed straight to attack him. But he stopped half way in his wild rush, then came on slowly till he rubbed his horns against the arms stretched out to him. He came with his chest splashed with the streams of blood from the darts fixed in his neck, and his skin torn by the wounds which showed the blue muscles beneath.... "Coronel! My son!..." And the bull, as if he understood these tender words, raised his muzzle and rubbed the breeder's white whiskers. "Why have you brought me here?" his fierce blood-shot eyes seemed to say; and the Marquis, no longer knowing what he did, kissed the beast's nostrils, wet with his furious snorting, again and again.

"Do not kill him!" some kind soul shouted from the seats, and as though these words reflected the thoughts of the whole audience, an explosion of voices shook the Plaza, and thousands of handkerchiefs waved like white doves. "Do not kill him!" And at that moment the crowd, seized with a vague tenderness, despised their own amusement, abhorred the torero in his showy dress with his useless heroism, and admired the bravery of the brute, to whom they felt themselves inferior; and recognised that among those thousands of reasoning beings, nobility and affection were alone represented by this poor animal.

"I took him away," said the Marquis, almost sobbing. "I returned the manager his two thousand pesetas. I would have given him my whole fortune. After a month on the pasture there was not the vestige of a scar on his neck.... I should have wished him to die of old age, but it is not always the good who prosper in this world. A sulky bull, who would not have dared to look him in the face, killed him treacherously with a blow of his horn."

The Marquis and his fellow-breeders soon forgot their tender sympathy for the animals in the pride they felt at their fierceness. You should have seen the contempt with which they spoke of the enemies of bull-fighting, and of those who clamoured against this art in the name of the protection of animals.

"Follies of foreigners," "Ignorant errors," which confound a butcher's ox with a fighting bull! The Spanish bull is a wild animal: the bravest wild beast in the world. And he recalled several fights between bulls and felines, which had always ended triumphantly for the national beast.

The Marquis laughed as he remembered another of his animals. A fight was arranged in a certain Plaza between a bull, and a lion and a tiger belonging to a celebrated tamer. The breeder sent Barrabas, a vicious animal, which had to be kept apart at the farm, because he had fought with and killed several of his companions.

"I saw this myself," said the Marquis. "There was a huge iron cage in the middle of the circus and inside it was Barrabas. They loosed the lion first, and this accursed feline, taking advantage of a bull being unsuspicious, sprung upon his hind quarters and began to tear him with teeth and claws. Barrabas bounded furiously in order to dislodge him and get him within reach of the horns, which are his defence. At last he succeeded in throwing the lion in front of him and then ... caballeros! it was just like a game of ball!... He tossed him from one horn to another, shaking him like a marionette, till at last, as if he despised him, he threw him on one side, and there lay the so-called king of animals, rolled into a ball, and lying like a cat who has just been beaten.... The second affair was much shorter. As soon as the tiger appeared Barrabas caught him, tossed him in the air, and after shaking him well, threw him into the corner like the other.... Then Barrabas, being an evil-minded beast, trotted up and down, with every indecent display of triumph over his fallen foes."

These anecdotes always drew shouts of laughter from the "Forty-Five." The Spanish bull!... The finest wild animal!... It seemed as if the arrogant bravery of the national animal established the superiority of the country and the race over all others.

When Gallardo began to frequent the club, a fresh topic of conversation had arisen to interrupt the endless talk of bulls and field work.

The "Forty-Five," like every one else in Seville, were talking of the exploits of Plumitas, a brigand, celebrated for his audacity, to whom the useless efforts of his pursuers daily gave fresh fame. The papers spoke of his kindly disposition, as if he were a national personage. The Government, who were questioned in the Cortes, promised a speedy capture, which was never realized. The civil guard were concentrated, and a perfect army was mobilized to follow and catch him, while Plumitas, always alone, with no other help but his carbine and his horse, slipped through those who were following him like a ghost; he would turn on them, when they were few in numbers, and stretch many lifeless, but he was reverenced and helped by all the poor peasantry, wretched slaves of the enormous landed interest, who looked upon the bandit as the avenger of the starving, a just but cruel justiciary, after the fashion of the ancient armour-clad knights errant. He exacted money from the rich, and then with the manner of an actor before an immense audience, he would assist some poor old woman, or some labourer with a large family. These generosities were greatly exaggerated by the gossip of the rural population, who always had the name of Plumitas on their lips, but who became both blind and dumb when any enquiries were made by the Government soldiers.

He went from one province to another like one perfectly acquainted with the country, and the landed proprietors of Seville and Cordova contributed largely to his support.... Whole weeks passed and nothing would be heard of him, then suddenly he would appear in some farm or village, utterly regardless of danger.

They had direct news of him in the "Forty-Five," precisely as if he had been a matador.

"Plumitas was at my farm the day before yesterday," a rich farmer would say. "The overseer gave him thirty duros, and he went away after breakfasting."

They paid this contribution contentedly, and gave no information except to friends. Giving information meant making declarations, and every sort of annoyance. And for what? The civil guard sought him without success, and had he become incensed against the informers, their goods and property would have been at his mercy, without any protection whatever from his vengeance.

The Marquis spoke of Plumitas and his exploits without being in the least scandalized by them, and treated them as though they were a natural and inevitable calamity.

"They are poor fellows who have had some misfortune, and have taken to the road. My father (who rests in peace) knew the famous José Maria, and had twice breakfasted with him. I have run against several of lesser fame, who went about the neighbourhood doing evil deeds. They are just the same as bulls, noble and simple creatures. They only attack when goaded, and their evil deeds increase with punishment."

He had given orders to all the overseers at his farms and in all his shepherds' hovels to give Plumitas whatever he asked for; consequently, as the overseers and cowherds related, the bandit, with the respect of a country peasant for a kind and generous master, spoke of him with the greatest gratitude, offering to kill anyone who offended the "Zeno Marque" in the very slightest degree. Poor fellow! For the wretched little sums which he demanded, when he made his appearance, wearied and starving, it was not worth while drawing down on oneself his anger and revenge.

The breeder, who was constantly galloping alone over the plains where his bulls grazed, suspected that he had several times come across Plumitas. He was probably one of those poor-looking horsemen whom he met in the solitary plains without so much as a village on the horizon, who would raise his hand to his greasy sombrero, and say with respectful civility:

"Go with God, Zeno Marque."

The lord of Moraima, when he spoke of Plumitas, looked often at Gallardo, who declaimed with the vehemence of a novice, against the authorities for being unable to protect property.

"Some fine day he will turn up at La Rincona, my lad," said the Marquis, with his grave Andalusian drawl.

"Curse him!... But that would not please me, Zeno Marque! God alive! Is it for this I pay such heavy taxes?"

No, indeed. It would not please him to run against the bandit during his excursions at La Rinconada. He was a brave man killing bulls, and in a Plaza regardless of his own life; but this profession of killing men inspired him with all the uneasiness of the unknown.

His family were at the farm. Señora Angustias enjoyed a country life, after the miseries of an existence spent in town hovels. Carmen also enjoyed it, and the saddler's children required a change, so Gallardo had sent his family to La Rincona, promising soon to join them. He, however, postponed the journey by every sort of pretext, living a bachelor's life (with no other companion than Garabato), which left him complete liberty as to his relations with Doña Sol.

He thought this the happiest time of his life, and he often quite forgot La Rinconada and its inhabitants.

He and Doña Sol rode together, mounted on spirited horses, dressed much the same as on the day when they first met, generally alone, but sometimes with Don José, whose presence was a sop to people's scandalized feelings. They would go to see bulls in the pastures round Seville, or to try calves at the Marquis's dairies, and Doña Sol, always eager for danger, was delighted when, as he felt the prick of the garrocha, a young bull would turn and attack her, and Gallardo had to come to her assistance.

At other times they would go to the station of Empalme, if a boxing of bulls was announced for the different Plazas which were giving special corridas at the end of the winter.